The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. . Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. "I'm almost afraid to state it," faltered the other; "but, may I ask whether Mr. “To the best of my belief,” she said, with quiet dignity, “I have never seen either of you before in my life. Ruth's arm trembled and her step faltered, but he was too far away in thought to be observant. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTM4LjE4MS4xMDAgLSAwNC0wNy0yMDI0IDIxOjEyOjAxIC0gMTA3MTQzMzU0MA==
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